


crepuscular rays

by toxicmew



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Discrimination, Drowning, M/M, Mages, Magical Realism, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Royalty, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2020-09-26 05:42:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20384611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toxicmew/pseuds/toxicmew
Summary: “Why does the tomb glow, mommy?”“Magic.”The boy was facing his mother, fear and wariness too old of an emotion to be crossing such a young face, his voice pitched to a low whisper, “magic?”The woman smiled, her eyes glinting mysteriously, “yes, baby. Magic. It’s what the advisors used to trap the prince, after all.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> there are _some_ things that should be touched upon before we begin, so make sure you look them over!
> 
> **trigger warnings:** minor character death (don’t worry, it’s no one in nct)
> 
> i'll be putting warnings on each chapter as things develop. other than that, this fic will be _long_, so i hope you’re strapped in for a wild ride. i'll be updating the relationship and character tags as they're introduced, along with any other tags so keep an eye on them with each new chapter! let’s geddit.
> 
> also if i find out any of you reposted this i _will_ devour you. do not fucking repost it anywhere. i will never give you permission to.

☽ ☼ ☾

Long ago, peace used to reign.

Joy and light spread across their kingdom, celebrations in every city, love freely expressed and laughter around every corner. Their kingdom had been _ bright_, full and unrivaled in its exuberance and kindness. They were a prosperous nation, after all, and their monarchs were kind. The ruling family treated their people fairly, as equals, and sought for the best life for all to live.

It was idyllic.

It was beautiful.

It was headed for devastation.

Humans are damned beings, for all that they believe otherwise. Greed overtakes those in positions of power, corruption seeds its way through the underbelly of their society, and chaos reigns.

The royal family were believed to be above such weakness, for they were not human. Eyes glittering with the hue of amethyst, they descended from the blood of kingdoms and people long past. Elven ancestry, as rare in their kingdom as the precious gems their eyes reflected, ran through their veins and protected their minds from the decay of human nature.

Their advisors did not share in this immunity, as human as the citizens the family ruled over. They saw these descendants of elves, how they aged with beauty and grace and how the world weaved itself to meet their whims. Jealousy bloomed, greed overcoming reason, and a plot was formed.

There were few of the royal family remaining, after all. The king’s mother laying her deathbed as his siblings were slaughtered in a war long forgotten, leading their armies to victory through their sacrifice. Only the king and the queen and their only son, the future heir to the throne, still lived. The queen, as human as they came but still as beautiful as her aging husband, had been unable to bear another child after their first, childbirth stripping her of the ability. The king’s love for her - shining and _ true _ \- ensured that he never pursued a concubine, leaving the future of their legacy up to his one and only son.

The prince did not begrudge his father for his choice, even with the pressure that descended upon his shoulders. How could he? He could see the love they had for one another, could feel it down to his very bones when they turned it upon him. He watched as his father still courted his mother with gifts and affection, decades after their betrothal but still just as buoyant with youthful wonder whenever his eyes rested upon her. He could feel it in the way his mother would drown his in kisses and silken draped hugs, the fabric of her beautiful gowns falling around his small frame. He could experience it when his father carried him upon his shoulders throughout the glittering streets of the capitol, even as the advisors twittered about unseemly behavior.

The prince did not care that he would one day be responsible for brooding a whole hoard of children to continue their legacy, not when he could see the devotion - the _ love _ \- that existed between his parents.

But one cannot live with only happiness in their lives - the world would make sure that the balance of scales was even for all.

When the prince was on the cusp of adulthood, little over a year remaining until his second decade of life, sickness took control of the king. Bedridden and weak, the palace healers tried their best to find a cure, potions and remedies administered and prayers uttered every passing moment. Elixirs and tonics and questionable concoctions were swallowed with what little strength the king had, for all that they did no good. Months passed with little change, the king’s hold on his adored queen’s hand just as weak as his grasp on the mortal realm. Sallow and sickly, the king started organizing for the inevitable, because even the best of their healers were started to lose hope in recovery.

His advisors were brought in, plans were made, and the king prepared his goodbyes for the kingdom he would soon be leaving in the hands of his beloved son.

And then on a tranquil day in the summer, flowers blooming and bees lazily buzzing in the gardens under the king’s window, the inevitable arrived.

The kingdom mourned its fallen king, the queen fell into despair, and the prince readied himself to take upon the weight of his father’s crown. First though, the king need to be laid to rest, and for that there was only one location that could be trusted.

The royal tomb was _ old, _ older than even the memories of the kingdom’s oldest books. There was power running through the veins of obsidian, an emerald green glow contrasting against the imposing black pillars. The _ hum _ of foreboding energy could be felt in the air felt for miles around. 

No one dared to approach the tomb too closely, not even those tasked with the keeping of the grounds. The tomb cared for itself after all, for no living creature, plant or animal alike, dared to encroach upon its gleaming walls. The closest town could only be seen from a distance, the roads leading to the tomb barren of foot traffic until only the most tragic of events occurred.

The passing of a member of the royal family saw that the roads were crowded, citizens of the kingdom, once cheerful but now darkened with the gloom of sorrow, lined each side as the funeral procession marched forward.

It took days for them to arrive, the capital of the kingdom having moved to the northern mountain stronghold in a time of strife long forgotten. The remnants of the former capital had long ago been swallowed back into nature, now home to the fae that inhabited the ageless woods of the southwest. The tomb was the only feature left unencumbered by growth, rising tall as the queen and prince approached. They were at the forefront, the casket of a beloved husband and father placed within the carriage they guided forward as the tomb sensed their presence.

Veins of emerald, once only emitting a faint glow, grew in brilliance at their approach until its shined rivaled the brilliant summer sun. Citizens bowed their heads, unable to withstand the blinding flare, and their queen bowed her head with them. Only the prince, eyes glimmering with the same brilliant amethyst as his father before him, kept his head held high. The light did not blind him, instead welcoming him with open arms as the tomb opened its doors under its own power.

The funeral procession came to an end at the steps of the tomb, silent but for the overpowering _ hum _ of the tomb before them. The prince descended from the carriage, moving with an easy gait that shrouded the turmoil sinking within his chest, and the advisors that had arrived in the carriage behind them swiftly followed.

They did not possess the immunity the prince held, but they held a strength within them that few humans were blessed with. Their eyes gleamed with an emerald just as dazzling as the veins of obsidian, but still they squinted in the magnificent light as the prince waited for them to gather their wits.

Each approached back of the royal carriage where the queen was still bowing her head, the reins of the masked horses held tightly within her grasp. Taking their places on either side of the king’s casket, the advisors and prince lifted the obsidian coffin with an ease born through their own blessed powers and the energy that hummed with life all around them.

Entering the tomb was an experience none of them would forget. The grandness of scale rivaled the palace in beauty, the energy surrounding them overwhelming and terrifying in greatness. They placed the king’s coffin on an empty pedestal in the center of the room, obsidian coffins lining the walls and etched with the names of the great kings and queens before them. The king’s own mother lay here, just as his father did. They were placed in alcoves side by side, their names and dates of life etched with equal ceremony despite the former king being just as human as any common citizen of their great kingdom. 

Retreating from his father’s casket, the prince bowed his head, dropping to his knees as he spoke his respects to the remains of his ancestors surrounding him. The advisors retreated behind him, leaving him in silence to pay his final respects. He would officially be king when he stepped out of the doors of the tomb, and the kingdom would bow to him.

He stayed there for what could be hours, reminiscing memories of his beloved father. He would miss him terribly, as would his mother, but he spoke promises of honoring his memory. He would do his best to be a great king, he swore.

If only he had been given the chance.

Before he could rise from his place before the king’s casket, the energy of the tomb sharpened. Gentle waves, overwhelming in both peace and power, turned to jagged edges, angry and violent. Had the prince not already been on his knees he would have buckled under the abrupt shift in energy. As it was he had bolted to his feet, legs shaking as he stumbled quickly towards the door, a hand on the hilt of the sword he had kept attached to his waist since he had first learned to wield it. Surely there was danger outside, and he had to get to his mother’s side as quickly as possible. Whoever dared to attack his kingdom on a day of mourning such as today would regret it.

There was no mourning when the prince got to the doors of the tomb. Instead he was faced with his king’s advisors, their emerald eyes bright with malice as they raised their hands and chanted words of power. Their apprentices, the ones who were in line to join their ranks when the current advisors were unable to hold their posts, were at their backs. They were warding off the kingdom’s knights, hands crackling with energy as they deflected blades and arrows that aimed for their teacher’s backs.

The prince stared at the chaos. The citizens were fleeing down the cobbled streets, his knights were fighting to reach his side, and his father’s trusted advisors were in the midst of betrayal. Only one thing truly grabbed his attention though, and that was the sight of his mother’s wide eyes as she screamed his name, fighting against the hold of a knight as he held her back from rushing to his side.

Then the advisors chanting came to an end, their raised hands coming together in a resounding, ear-shattering clap, and the prince was shoved back inside the tomb by a blast of energy.

The last sight their kingdom saw of the prince was his amethyst eyes, wide in grief and betrayal, before the tomb doors sealed themselves shut with a bang.

☽ ☼ ☾

“And then what happened, mommy?” A curious voice interrupted.

The woman looked down as she paused her storytelling, warm brown eyes glittering in the candle light coming from the child's bedside. The woman reached out, calloused hands roughened from labor but ever so gentle in the way they stroked over the boy's soft cheeks.

“And then,” the woman continued, her voice as fine as velvet, “the tomb continued to _ glow_.”

There was a beat of silence, the child's wide eyes staring up at her, but then his nose wrinkled in confusion, his little mouth pursing into a pout, “what?”

The woman laughed, tinkling like the church bells that filled the air every Sunday morning. The boy wasn't fond of Sundays, nor was he fond of going to church. The starch clothes he was forced into itched at his skin, the oppressive air of the people praying for salvation crushing down upon him, but he loved his mother, and he stared up at her in adoration.

“The tomb, baby. You can see it now, even from here,” she told him, because the tale was not just a bedtime story - it was history. She shifted out of her chair, inky black hair falling past the small of her back and glinting in the muted light of the room. Pulling the threadbare curtain aside and trying her best not to grimace at the moth eaten holes littering the fabric, the woman pointed her finger against the smudged glass, “there, you see it?”

The curious child sat up on his knees, careful of the candle as he pressed a hand on the bedside table. Leaning forward as far as he could, the boy gasped at the shining green light, visible through the moonless night that had befallen them.

The woman smiled thinly, eyes tracing over the distant beam of light as the boy gasped in wonder. The light raised up from the horizon, hues of green shimmering and shifting as it illuminated the overcast clouds.

“That’s the tomb?” the boy questioned softly, as if wary to break the hush that had descended between them.

The woman smiled, muted sadness creasing at her beautiful features, before nodding her head, “it is.”

“Why does it glow, mommy?”

“Magic.”

Another gasp emitted from the boy, but this time it was out of trained fear. He may not like going to church, but he had been intending for the entirety of his life. The preacher told them of magic, tales of vile ruin and damnation that had spread across their kingdom like a disease. The townsfolk feared it, crossing their chests at the mere mention of such power, damning those who they believed to practice such dark arts.

The boy didn’t understand the fear, but he had been trained to bow to it. To hear his mother speak such a word had him looking around anxiously despite the empty room, untrained ears straining for a hint of his father’s footsteps despite knowing his location to be down at the town’s pub. His mother watched him, unhappiness soaked into her very pores, but this was the reality they were forced to live.

Then the boy was facing his mother, fear and wariness too old of an emotion to be crossing such a young face, his voice pitched to a low whisper, “_magic_?”

The woman smiled, her eyes glinting mysteriously, “yes, baby. Magic. It’s what the advisors used to trap the prince, after all.”

“But _ why_?” The child questioned, confusion and latent fear in his expression as he took his place back under his bed sheet.

“Because of greed,” she answered easily, sitting once more in the chair she had pulled up next to his bedside, “they wanted the crown for themselves. And they did what was needed to achieve it.”

“What about the queen? What happened to her?”

The woman hesitated at the question, staring at her son for a long, silent moment. He was young, barely over half a decade in age, but she needed to finish the story. He would need to know it someday, she knew instinctively that he would.

“She died, baby. As did any of the knights that fought for the prince that day and anyone who tried to revolt in the days that followed. The advisors took the crown, they took the kingdom, and it’s because of their greed that it has fallen to ruin.”

Little hands lifted to cover his mouth as the child gasped, eyes growing teary in sorrow, “what happened to her though? Shouldn’t she have been buried with the king?”

“The advisors executed her in the square before the palace, and her ashes were spread among the flowers in the garden by her former handmaidens. It had been the queen’s favorite area in the castle to spend time with the prince, after all, and they honored her memory as best they could. The advisors banned entry into the tomb’s grounds, after all. Even now no one can access it without the threat of death.”

The woman slumped in her chair as she finished speaking, regret in her eyes as she looked at the tears leaking from her child’s eyes, but she needed to tell him. He may not understand it now, but knowledge is power, and he would need as much of it as he could get.

“Even now?” The boy questioned eventually, his tears drying as curiosity took hold.

“Even now,” The woman repeated, before tilting her head towards the window, “even a century later, the only time the grounds are clear of knights are on new moons like tonight. That’s when the magic of the tomb grows strongest. And it remains furious about the betrayal of the prince.”

The boy’s brow furrowed in confusion, “furious? How can magic be angry? It’s not alive.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong, baby,” his mother chided, her smile as beautiful as the wonder in her eyes, “magic is as alive as you and I, and it _ remembers_.”

☽ ☼ ☾

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone, thank you for reading u.u this au has been around since march, but it’s only now that i’m finally making any progress in it. if you follow me on twitter than you've probably seen me screaming about the lost prince fic. there’s a lot coming in the future and this will probably be the longest thing i've ever written, so look forward to it! thank you once again for checking it out and i hope you enjoyed it 💚
> 
> if you have any theories on who the prince or the little boy is, please share them! you’ll be finding out who the boy is by the next chapter uwu
> 
> here’s my [twitter](https://twitter.com/toxicmew) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/toxicmew) if you want to talk about this fic with me! (_please_ do, it’s my baby and i wanna scream about it so much)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay now _this_ is the chapter where you seriously need to pay attention to the warnings and the tag updates.
> 
> **trigger warnings:** abuse (spousal, vocal, and physical), mild gore, murder 
> 
> i also wasn't exaggerating when i tagged worldbuilding, so i’ve created an in depth map of the country. with every chapter i’ll be uploading pics of it as we discover different cities and locations. for now, this chapter will be centered in one city, but over time it will become larger and I’ll put a marker on where people are.
> 
> ** [MAP](https://i.imgur.com/4RSTTDG.png)   
**

☽ ☼ ☾

When Jeno was born, his eyes had been as green as the new spring growth. His father had at first been confused, and then he had been _ angry_. Jeno's mother tried her best to explain, citing it as her ancestors fault, blood of the north singing through her veins and presenting itself in the eyes of their son. In time his eyes would darken to their natural pigment, almost assuredly as brown as his parent’s chocolate hues, as was natural for children born in the upper mountainous regions. His father only believed in the truth of her statement when the child’s green eyes steadily darkened as the weeks passed, until eventually Jeno’s father was staring into wide eyes as dark as his own.

Jeno learned about this when his father had partaken in too much liquor, an event that become steadily more common as he aged. Jeno's father was not a kind man, nor was he outwardly cruel. He just had opinions, as any man did, and if you were to try and disagree with him…

Well, Jeno had learned not to disagree. 

The night he learned about his eyes was the night he learned how much of a bastard his father was, and that Jeno would do anything to protect his mother.

☽ ☼ ☾

Jeno was a curious child.

He learned to crawl from an early age, bright brown eyes wide in wonder as he reached chubby hands to grab at everything he could. At first it was just his mother’s hair, shining and healthy and oh so eye catching to a baby. He always clutched it in a tight grasp, trying to pull the black locks into his mouth to chew on. His mother said it had been his worst habit.

When he was a toddler he babbled incessantly. Only to his mother though, because he had learned quickly that his father had no patience for his constant questions. He asked his mother about everything. From why the sky is blue to how to flowers bloomed, he wanted to _ know_. He wanted to understand the world around him, to know why things happened, _ how _ things happened.

He also wanted to know about the _ hum _ around him, the vibrations felt through the earth and the air. His mother quickly put a stop to that line of questioning though, the fear in her eyes enough to quiet even his curious mind.

He loved his mother after all, and he never wanted to see her afraid.

When he was six he learned how to cook, because that was a chore he most often saw his mother doing and it sparked Jeno’s curiosity. It was _ interesting _ (it was _ magic_, a quiet voice in his head stated because he was never to say _ that word _aloud), and he wanted to do it too. Jeno knew that potatoes tasted like dirt when eaten raw (he had learned that the hard way) so how did his mother turned them into mashed perfection? How did she turn bloody meat into drool-worthy steak? Jeno was curious, so he pulled up one of the chairs from the table and stood there as his mother cooked, curious eyes watchful.

His mother noticed, of course. She looked at him in amusement, laughter in her eyes, and shifted her body so that he had a better view as she chopped carrots.

“Would you like to learn?” She questioned him, and he accepted.

He regretted it later, if only for his mother’s sake, when his father walked in to find her teaching him how to handle a knife against a carrot of his own. It was a woman’s job, after all, and how _ dare _ she pollute _ his _ son in such a way. His father took no heed of his mother’s words, even when she told him about how he skinned his own fish, about how he had had to learn how to wield a kitchen knife just as she had.

That was the first time he saw his father’s fists clench with the threat of violence, malice in his eyes as he called her a northern harlot before stomping out of the house. After that the fellow villagers of Riphelm started acting differently. No longer did they smile as kindly, new hesitance in their eyes when they looked at him. Before they would smile back at him, offer him kind words or even a few treats. Now they eyed him warily, looking around for signs of his mother and a steady eye on his small hands.

Jeno didn’t know it then, but that was when his father started spreading his rumors. At first it was truth, about how he regretted marrying one of the steadfast women of the north. That was already enough to change opinions though. The northern people were richer, owning finer clothes and finer homes than the people of the south. Where Jeno had grown up seabound with a wood frame around him, his mother came from stonework masons and jewel-mined luxury.

She told him about it, eventually. When he was seven and curious about why one of his classmates had called him a mountain-bred bastard. She had been furious at first, demanding to know which child (which _ family_) had called him such names. He told her, of course, because he didn’t lie to his mother.

He never talked to that classmate again, and he never knew what happened to them after they moved away a month later. He did become entranced in his mother’s stories though, always awaiting bedtime for her to tell him a new tale from the north. She even told him southern ones, the few that she had picked up after marrying his father. He enjoyed the northern ones more, if only for how happy his mother was when she talked about them.

Another thing was the _ wonder _ that was encased in each story. He had been sworn to secrecy about them, no other soul within the village allowed to know about the tales she told, an easy consolation considering he didn’t even _ like _ most people aside from his mother. He had had fewer and fewer friends as the years passed, the villagers growing colder towards him until they all but ignored his existence.

Once his mother had his promise (their hands shook with it, a deal struck, Jeno’s skin humming between them and a spark in his veins) she started telling him about _ magic_. His first, and favorite, would always be about the prince. It was always there in the back of his mind, his mother’s quiet voice filling him with wonder and despair all at once. Every month when the moon was hidden and the tombs bright light shone in the distance Jeno asked for the story to be told again. He had even moved his bed around, just so he was able to look at the light from his window as she spoke, pushing aside the curtains before he crawled under his blankets so that the green light was visible.

On every night where the moon was visible his mother told him other stories. Tales of dragons and fae, of grand knights and elven kingdoms. About their own kingdom before the prince’s entrapment, about the lushness of the land and the happiness of the people. She told him about the castle in the north, the capital of the kingdom to this day, and how it had been a place of happiness and grand celebration back with the royal family still ruled.

Jeno was entranced, and his curiosity and hunger for the tales grew with each one he was given.

His mother acquiesced, amused and eager to share all the stories she knew. She had heard them from her own parents after all, and they had been emparted down from their parents before them. Her great-grandfather had lived within the castle during the time of the royal family. He had passed on his experiences just as Jeno’s mother was emparting to him.

And she had so many stories to tell.

☽ ☼ ☾

“Jeno, baby, come here,” his mother’s voice called, echoing up the rickety stairs.

Jeno groaned, pushing himself up from the floor and leaving his abandoned school work on the floor. He only attended classes three times a week now, at least. Since he had turned ten his father had been making it a point to bring Jeno with him out on his boat more and more. He would one day need to join the village fishermen down by the shore, making further schooling rather pointless. His mother didn’t like it, nor did he if he was being completely honest. He _ liked _ learning, after all. That was a thought better for later though, and Jeno focused instead on walking down the hall until he could frown down at his mother from the top landing, “I’m not a _ baby_.”

His mother smiled in amusement, brown eyes sparkling in mischief, “you’re _ my _ baby. Now come help your mother prepare lunch.”

Jeno huffed but did as she said, quickly making his way down the stairs and trying to duck around her hand. He failed, of course, and tried his best to repress a smile when she ruffled his hair fondly. It was just as glossy black as her own, soft as it fell between her fingers. Pressing her lips to his temple, his mother patted at his shoulders as she led the way towards the kitchen, “you _ have _ gotten bigger, though. Soon you’ll be taller than me.”

“I’ll even be taller than father, just watch,” Jeno bragged, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to smooth it as he took up his place by her side. The wooden counters had a selection of vegetables on its surface, a pot already set on the stove top in preparation for the stew she had decided on for lunch. It would be their dinner as well, but Jeno didn’t really mind. He loved his mother’s stews.

“I’ll believe it when I see it. Now chop the potatoes.”

Jeno couldn’t resist sticking his tongue out childishly, laughing as she left a quick swat on his upper arm. Picking up the knife and one of the smaller potatoes, Jeno looked over at his mother’s watchful eyes, “should I peel it?”

“No, the skin has most of the nutrients. It makes the stew-”

“-into a better concoction and balances the ingredients, I know, I know. Father hates the skin though?” Jeno pointed out, remembering the last time mother had cooked her stew. His father had thrown a fit about how his mother couldn’t get anything right, a blatantly untrue fact, before stomping off for another evening in the pub. One of Jeno’s classmates told him about it the next night, their own father having came home with gossip about his father badmouthed his mother yet again.

It had been one time out of many, but it did nothing to quell the anger Jeno felt when he was informed of his father’s deeds. Truly, he awaited the day when his father would simply leave for good.

“Well,” his mother’s mouth fell into a flat line, her brows furrowed, “peel two potatoes. I’ll make him a separate pot. Just to save our ears from his yelling.”

Jeno nodded his head obediently, falling quiet as the sound of slicing filled the kitchen. It melded with the birdsong coming through the open window, the air fragrant with the fresh blooms of spring. Jeno would be turning eleven soon, almost an adult in the eyes of Riphelm. Puberty was on the horizon and he wasn’t looking forward to it, nor was his mother. The girls around town had been eyeing him speculatively, assessing him for his worth as a future husband, when they weren’t badmouthing him for being the son of a whore.

It was his father’s words being echoed back to him, he knew. Jeno hated it, hated _ them_. He hated his father most of all, though, and he dreamed of one day escaping this village. Dreamt of leaving with his mother, both of their belongings packed on the backs of strong horses that they’d ride into the distance. They’d stop in many places along the way, working their way north and far away from Jeno’s birthplace.

It wasn’t a bad village, not by a longshot. It was prosperous, in its own ways. They were located in the furthest southeastern reach of the kingdom, Morim Lake to the west and Hyril Sea to the east bracketing them into a narrow strip of land. For what they lacked in farming they gained in fishing, a bountiful stock they could trade even during the colder months. It ensured that none went hungry, not even the orphans down by the docks that would work labor in trade for some of the daily catch.

The prosperous nature of Riphelm’s trade did little to earn Jeno’s favor though. Not when his mother was an outcast, a whore, only looked at either sneers or salacious gazes. His father was a vile man, and Jeno had few memories of him ever being kind.

Maybe it was due to his nature as a sailor, the ocean surf and the salty breeze honing him into a tempered blade. Maybe he was just a drunk, his mind drowned in his constant intake of mead. Whatever it was, Jeno held no warm feelings for him and he longed for the day when he was a man himself. When he would have the strength to fend for himself, and fend for his mother in turn. That would be the day they left this damned village, and Jeno looked forward to it with every turn of the calendar.

☽ ☼ ☾

“Mother?” Jeno called, pushing open the closed door to his parent’s bedroom. His mother was sitting at her desk in the corner, where he first remembered being taught how to read and write. A candle was at her elbow, teetering dangerous as she almost knocked it over in her haste to close the book she was hunched over. Jeno furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, eyes darting from the thick text she was trying to hide to his mother’s wide eyes, “what’s that?”

His mother seemed to let out a sigh of relief at the sight of him, ushering him forward into the room, “has your father returned?”

Shaking his head, Jeno closed the door as he made a vague motion in the direction to Riphelm’s main pub, “I saw him heading to drink with the other fishermen after we came back to shore.”

His mother’s mouth pinched in distaste, looking over his clothes as she took a quick sniff of the air. Jeno knew he smelt of the ocean, salt sticking to the skin of his bared arms and the skin of his neck peeling after a long day in the sun. It wasn’t as bad as when he first joined his father on the boats two years ago, but Jeno hadn’t been lucky enough to inherit the man’s tanned skin that seemed to flourish under the harsh rays. Instead he was pale like his mother, mountain blood accustomed to snow and mines, and it left him easily burnt.

“I’ll gather a salve for you before bed. Did you bring any of your catch back with you?” His mother questioned, rising from her chair to make her way to the window. It was a moonless night, a favorite of Jeno’s, but he was unable to see the tomb in the distance before she closed the curtains. His parents bedroom faced the east, looking out over the village and the ocean surrounding it. Jeno’s bedroom window faced the northwest, and he was forever grateful for it when he was able to fall asleep under the distant emerald glow.

“It’s wrapped in the kitchen. Mother, what is this book?” Jeno questioned again, walking closer so that he could peer at it. He didn’t even know they _ had _ books this thick. Then again, it wasn’t like Riphelm was big enough for a library of its own. That was for more populous towns, and he had only heard of them from traveling merchants who came to trade their wares for fish. Still, not even the schoolhouse had books this thick, big enough that Jeno didn’t know if he could hold it with only one hand.

His mother reached for it with ease though, lifting it with one of her calloused but thin hands. Jeno looked at her in surprise before returning his eyes to the thick tome. Its cover was thick, looking far more durable than any leather Jeno had laid his eyes on.

His mother stroked it as if it was one of the stray cats that always populated the docks, flocking to Jeno whenever the other fishermen were out of sight. He always liked petting their soft fur in exchange for a fish or two, easily making the trade despite how just a few minutes of their company had his eyes watering and his nose itching.

“This,” his mother began, interrupting his thoughts of the calico he had fed that very evening before heading home, “is our legacy.”

Jeno looked between the tome she clutched to her chest and his mother’s serious expression, his face scrunching dubiously, “our legacy?”

“My family is old, Jeno. _ Our _ family is old. We have so much history that I’ve been unable to teach you because your father-” here she cut off, pain crossing her features before she shook her head with a sigh. Pushing her long hair behind her ear, his mother took a moment to collect herself before speaking more calmly, “our family history is contained in this tome, baby. And if anything were to happen to me-”

“Mother-” Jeno tried to interrupt, only to fall silent under her glare.

“If anything were to happen to me,” she repeated features softening at the horrified look Jeno was sending her, “you are to take this book and _ run _. Do you hear me? Riphelm will not be safe for you, and its inhabitants will not be kind.”

“Why do we not just leave now?” He questioned, his heart burning at the very prospect of his mother not being by his side, gently guiding his way.

The smile she sent him was as painful as it was beautiful, “oh, I wish we could, baby.”

☽ ☼ ☾

Two years later, and the age of fourteen, life as Jeno knew it came to an end.

There had been shouting, an argument with no evident cause, and objects were being thrown. Jeno’s father was yelling, accusations and regrets being flung into the air, aiming to stab and _ bleed_. The man believed his wife to be guilty of infidelity and lying, despite having no proof to back up such a claim.

But he was drunk, and drunken men needed no evidence.

After all, Jeno’s mother had been married to him for over fourteen years, Jeno having been conceived after many trials during their second year of matrimony. That level of dedication didn’t breach the man’s drunken beliefs though, and when he went to grab hold of his mother, Jeno was there.

Jeno was there, because his father was not allowed to touch his mother. Not when his eyes were clouded with so much violent rage, his body almost vibrating with intent to harm.

He was fourteen and yet to hit his growth spurt, but he had been out on the water with his father for the past four years. He had towed the lines, he had reeled in the nets, he had hauled cargo from the boats to the docks and from the docks to the boats. His pale arms were lean with muscle, and he could easily counter against his father’s unsteady balance.

It didn’t last long, because despite the muscle he had gained he was barely half the size of his father and barely able to look over his mother’s shoulder. A backhand across the face had him falling to the ground, the steel-hardened defiance never leaving his eyes as he tasted blood in his mouth.

There was as much shock blooming in his head as there was building anger. His father had never laid a hand on either of them despite the long years of mistreatment. He had yelled, he had thrown things, _ broken _ things, but he had never resorted to physical violence. Jeno had only ever been punished by his father when he was young, before he learned that rules were not made for breaking unless he wanted his rear bruised by a leather strap.

Jeno’s mind was straining as it scrambled to reevaluate the man he had known his whole life. His father had once been kind to him, because when he was still stumbling over his words and learning how to count. He remembered the days on the docks, perched on his father’s shoulders as his mother laughed and smiled under the rays of the sun. He remembered his father teaching him how to tie his shoes, and then how to tie knots for the boats right after, laughing at Jeno’s small hands fumbling over the complicated instructions.

Jeno remembered he had a beloved father, once. He had not had that man for many, many years.

The cold feeling settling in Jeno’s gut made him nauseous, but not as much as the sound of his mother’s pained gasp reaching his ears. Eyes snapping open from where they had scrunched up in pain, Jeno quickly pushed himself to his knees, focusing on how his mother clutched at her own cheek. She had fallen to the floor, the eyes Jeno had only ever seen as loving clouded over with pain and _ hatred_.

It had Jeno drawing up short, his eyes numb to his father’s continued yelling. The man was looming over his mother, his mind descending into drunken insanity and self-imposed beliefs over Jeno’s mother being a lying, cheating whore.

“I never should have taken you as that mage’s payment. Deceitful bastards, the lot of them. Their goods are just as faithful as they are,” his father sneered, his face twisted up in derision as Jeno squinted in confusion. A mage?

His mother clenched her fists, defiantly glaring at him in return, “and what will the villagers think? Were they learn that you’ve wedded and fucked a slave of magic?”

Before Jeno could move his father struck again, his mother landing back on the floor with a pained gasp, “_do not speak that word!_”

“Mother!” Jeno yelped, scrambling up to his feet. His mother’s eyes flew open, tears of pain making her brown eyes shine wetly as she met Jeno’s gaze. There was fear in them, just as much as there was resolve.

When his father turned his attention back towards Jeno, malice in his eyes, his mother quickly made her way back to her feet. Jeno was too close when he realized was about to happen, catching sight of his father’s swinging fist too late, and he clenched his eyes shut in preparation for the oncoming pain.

It impacted his cheek, his ears ringing at the onslaught of force. Jeno tried his best to keep his bearing, staggering over his own feet as his balance tipped sideways. His mother was there in the instant before he fell, cradling his head to her chest with a tight grasp. Jeno whimpered, swallowing past the blood in his mouth as he squinted his eyes open, peering past the dark fall of his mother’s hair.

His father was laughing at the two of them, insults falling from his tongue as he started on another tirade. Rage bubbled darkly under Jeno’s skin, his eyes narrowing in anger even as his mother’s grip on his tightened.

He was soon distracted from that anger, though. There was a hum starting up in the air, vibrating all around them, and Jeno frowned in confusion as he felt it resonating through him. His father didn’t seem to feel it, not with the way he continued prattling on. Then he looked to them, his eyes darting from his son to his wife, another insult on his tongue, and his words were abruptly silenced. Instead he was blanching, expression dropping quickly into a confusing visage of fear.

“Witch-” he choked out, and Jeno’s mind halted.

_ Witch? _ He thought, following his father’s gaze to his mother’s face. Resisting against the tight hold she had on him, Jeno craned his head back enough so that she could look up into her face.

The rage that was bubbling within him was a startling sight on his mother’s kind face. No longer were her eyes a bubbling warmth of brown, sparkling in mischief as she teased him or melting in soft kindness as she told him tales before bed. In their place were jagged gems of emerald, sparking in rage as she guided him behind her back.

Jeno was too numb to protest, gazing at his mother’s back in shock. His mother was a witch. She was a mage. She had _ magic_.

But if she had magic, then that meant that Jeno-

Before his mind could come to terms with what these revelations meant, for both his mother and himself, his father seemed to rise from his fearful stupor. Fear had taken over the anger, the hatred in his gaze mixing with tremble of his fingers as he pointed a hand at Jeno’s mother, “s-stay back!”

“Oh?” Jeno’s mother cooed, her voice like velvet disguising steel, “what’s wrong, darling? Do you not have more you want to say?”

“Stay _ back_!” Jeno’s father yelled, almost tripping over his own feet as he retreated from his mother’s approach.

“Why?” his mother questioned, acid in her words, “aren’t I just a whore? A mountain bred bitch spoiled by the jewels of the north?”

She raised a hand, a green wisp of something (_of magic_, Jeno’s brain whispered) weaving between her fingers, the humming in the air rising to a fever pitch.

But then, just as she was pointing a finger to Jeno’s cowering father, his mother flinched, a pained gasp falling from her lips. Jeno watched as the glow around her hand dissipated, the hum of energy in the air depleting as she hunched over, clutching at her hips. It was where he knew she had a dark branding, ink tattooed into her skin in such a foreign manner to the small village they lived in. Jeno had only seen the tattoos a handful of times since he had grown older and able to bathe on his own without joining his mother. He still remembered when he was small though, his chubby fingers poking at the dark lettering branded over his mother’s hips and asking about it curiously.

His mother’s face had creased in pain, either at the memories of the tattoo’s origins or at the pain of their etching, he didn’t know. What he _ did _ know was that they did not dredge up a kind memory, and his mother’s plea to not speak of them only cemented the fact.

Jeno had nodded, small and easily compliable, and hugged her neck went she bent to lather his hair.

“I love you, mommy,” he had told her, eyes crinkling closed as a wide smile stretched over his chubby face. She had smiled back at him, eyes so warm with love as she booped at Jeno’s nose, joining him in his giggles, her voice fond, “I love you too, baby.”

The memory was bittersweet, and Jeno’s curiosity had never abated. He loved his mother though, and he never wanted her to be in pain, so he kept his questions locked away. Now he watched as the markings _ burned_, smoke curling as the tattoos seared through the fabric of her dress. They were glowing an ominous red, Jeno mother’s crying out at the pain.

“Mother!” Jeno called out, his voice cracking in worry as he moved forward to help in any way he could despite not knowing how he could. She turned her head to glance at him immediately, emerald eyes so strange and mesmerizing. Shaking her head, she opened her mouth to speak only for her face to crumple in pain, the darkened hum around her tattoos making Jeno’s stomach churn in disgust.

Then his father was laughing, drawing both of their attention to the mad gleam in his eyes, “that’s what you get, _ witch_. Don’t you remember what your mage said? You’re _ mine_. You belong to _ me_. You’re mine to do what I please with, and those spells ensure you aren’t able to leave. I can fuck you, I can breed you, and I can _ kill _ you, and no one can say _ anything_.”

Before the reality of his words could set in, Jeno watched in wide-eyed horror as he father grabbed the hunting knife from his belt, still hanging from his fishing trip earlier in the day, lunging forward.

The next few seconds after that felt like a nightmare, one that Jeno was unable to wake up from no matter how hard he tried. His body was frozen, locked in place as he watched his mother scream. Her blood sprayed against the wall when his father yanked his arm back, wrenching the blade from her abdomen before thrusting it forward once again with a demented laugh.

Her screams choked, her voice quieting to a sickening gurgle as his father pushed her body away from him. She fell to the floor with a thump Jeno usually only heard when he was pulling their daily catch onto the docks, bleak fish eyes staring up at him accusingly.

Now he watched as his mother fell, the blade sticking from her chest and blood pooling from her mouth. She weakly turned her head towards him, pain and grief and _ terror _ meeting Jeno’s horrified eyes. Jeno couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t _ understand_, his mind was an empty shell.

“Baby…,” his mother whispered, hitching in a breath as her chest stuttered, “I love you…”

Then her chest was still, and his mother’s eyes were blank, the shining lifeness to them _ gone_, those two glinting emerald jewels that were so new to him staring unseeingly. Her lifeblood was spreading, sinking into the wooden floorboards under their feet.

Jeno stared numbly as his father collected the bloodied knife, wrenching it out of his mother’s chest with a grunt of effort.

“Well then,” his father huffed, looking down at the blade with a crazed grin, “wasn’t that exciting?”

His words were what it took for Jeno to snap out of the haze. The rage that had been under his skin _ roared_, the hum of energy in the air returning with a earthquaking rumble. His father looked up as the room shook, items falling from counters and boards creaking ominously, his face creasing curiously until he remembered Jeno’s presence.

Confused brown eyes met raging green, and then the room _ exploded_.

☽ ☼ ☾

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so...hope you liked it? if you fell in love with jeno's mom over the chapter don't worry, i did too and i feel really bad that i've killed two sets of parents already.
> 
> next chapter won't be out for a while! i'm halfway through writing it right now, but hurricane dorian is coming to rock my shit so i'll probably be without electricity for a week, maybe? that's why i'm posting this chapter now, before it arrives. hopefully power outages is the most i'll go through because i live on florida's west coast though.
> 
> if you'd like to ask me anything check out my [twitter](https://twitter.com/toxicmew) or [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/toxicmew). please, i have So much content for this fic it's been driving me insane.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand we're back. took longer than expected but hey, we're out here.
> 
> **trigger warnings:** death, drug references
> 
> also, the map has expanded, but i think i'll be linking it at the end of the chapter from now on? because it'll show the progression of where jeno ends up. so, look forward to that, and i hope you enjoy!

☽ ☼ ☾

When Jeno opened his eyes, it was a moonless night.

The stars were twinkling brightly overhead, wisps of clouds failing to obscure them. The tomb glowed in the distance, it’s green light arching up into the heavens and calling for attention. The waves lapping at the distant shore reached Jeno’s ears soothingly, nature’s lullaby on such a peaceful night. It was beautiful, and Jeno almost let his eyes drift closed once again so that he could fall into sleep’s embrace.

Then the events before he passed out rushed back to his brain and he was choking on sobs.

His mother was dead by his father’s hand, and he hadn’t been able to stop him. She had died at his feet, and Jeno hadn’t been able to do _ anything_.

His cheek, bruised from his father’s fist, ached as he clenched his teeth in a futile attempt to stop his wails. Hiding his face in the palms of his hands, Jeno tried to disappear where he lay, wishing for the ground to swallow him up. He yearned for his mother’s arms, for her soothing voice, for her warm brown eyes-

Jeno froze, his breathing stuck at a standstill as shock raced through him. His mother’s eyes. They hadn’t been brown, they had been _ green. _ Green eyes, that _ hum _ in the air that Jeno felt but knew to keep quiet about.

_ A mage’s payment, _ his father had said. _ Witch. _

His mother had _ magic. _

And it looked like Jeno did too.

His mother’s words from two years ago finally made sense. Riphelm would not be safe for him, not if he had magic. Few places would be, with the kingdom’s general distaste for magic users.

Jeno would have to leave his home, the only village he had ever known throughout the sixteen years of his life, and he would have to leave _ now_.

Sucking in another hitching breath, Jeno pressed the heels of his palms harshly into his eyes until he was seeing spots. Holding back the sobs that still wanted to come, Jeno wiped the tears from his face, resolve filling him.

He would find his mother’s tome, pack anything he was able to find, and then he would leave.

Pushing himself up onto his feet, Jeno took a few cautious glances around. He had been in the kitchen last he remembered, his father looming before him, and then-

Then it there was a _ boom, _ green light exploding from his body before being swiftly followed by the inky darkness of unconsciousness.

Considering the wreckage of his house around him, Jeno wasn’t that surprised. The second floor at collapsed, leaving the night sky shining unhindered above him. There was debris all around, his family’s belongings scattered and tarnished.

Then Jeno saw his father’s legs, his work boots still laced to his feet, sticking out from a pile of rubble. There was a pool of blood seeping from the wreckage, soaking into the fabric of his pants, and Jeno only had a second to register the bile climbing up his throat before he was hunched over and vomiting.

The tears made their return as he coughed, a second and third wave of retching sending him to his knees as he emptied the contents of his stomach. His mind was in a numb haze, grief and vicious delight warring within him. His father had killed his mother, and for that he had died from the actions of his son. There was a vicious voice in Jeno’s head delighting in his fate, revenge for his mother fueling it’s cruel laughter. But there was still his father’s son within him, memories of a time when his family was happy, sobbing at the turmoil that surrounded him.

Jeno didn’t know which incarnation he wanted to side with, but he had a sinking feeling it would be both.

When there was nothing left of his stomach to empty, Jeno centered himself for a moment. He had tasks to accomplish, now wasn’t the time to descend into turmoil. It wouldn’t be long until the villagers came to look through the wreckage of his home, searching for any survivors amid the rubble. Jeno was honestly surprised they hadn’t already arrived, considering there was no telling how long he had been unconscious.

Picking his way over floor boards and roofing tiles, Jeno thanked his past self for keeping his boots on. They were thick, sturdy, a gift from his father after they had brought in their biggest catch yet the month before. They made his churning stomach clench, disgust and hatred for anything his father gave him at odds with the practicality the shoes afforded him. He would be on his own now, after all, and there was no telling when he would manage to purchase new supplies.

That realization had Jeno hurrying for one of the kitchen candles, pulling the flint and steel he always kept in his pocket and swiftly working until the candle was helping to illuminate the star-bright room. The flame cast wicked shadows among the rubble, and Jeno pointedly avoiding the pool of blood when he stepped past his father’s body.

Half of the kitchen was still in tact, though unfortunately the space where his mother had fallen was buried. He had mixed feelings as he stared at the space where she would lay, grief over being unable to bury her properly mixing with the relief that he wouldn’t have to look into her lifeless eyes ever again.

Shaking his head to clear himself of his thoughts, Jeno turned to the back door where his father’s knapsack lay, thrown down after his return from the pub. He made quick work of emptying it onto the floor, dispatching any needless items and focusing on the most useful items. Whatever Jeno’s schooling had failed to teach him about surviving on his own, he knew from his father. The man had at least taught him how to survive back when he was ten and just beginning to spend his days out on the waves under the blazing sun.

His spare hunting knife, with two pocket knives stuffed into front pocket, a compass and bread that his mother had wrapped his father for lunch. Fishing line and hooks, flint and steel to add to his own fire starter, and a large flask of vodka that Jeno knew he could use to disinfect any wounds he received. He would be able to get far more use out of it too, much more than his father ever did.

A smaller flask at the bottom of the bag had Jeno sniffing at it curiously, only to recoil at the smell of rum. He returned it to the bag knowing it would serve the same purpose as the vodka, and took stock of what he would need to gather. A few flasks of water, definitely, along with food and any spare clothes he could find if his room was still intact. Any of his mother’s healing salves, if he could find them.

But most importantly, he needed to locate his mother’s tome.

☽ ☼ ☾

Deciding he needed to locate and item and actually _ finding _ said item was two very different things, Jeno came to learn. Gathering supplies was far easier, so after wasting time sifting through the wreckage with no luck, Jeno turned to that task instead. He had his pack ready to go, hidden in the cupboard next to the back door. He didn’t want one of the villagers to stumble upon it before he was able to depart, after all.

Only after he had that sorted did Jeno throw himself into the wreckage, gloves he usually used when he scaled fish pulled on to save himself from nasty splinters. It had mostly been his parent’s bedroom that had fallen onto the floor below, and his best chance of finding the tome would be by locating her desk.

He was starting to panic with the more time that it took, heart beating unsteadily as he strained to listen past his heartbeat thundering in his ears. He knew no citizen of Riphelm would attack him outright, but the steady reminder that their was magic blood running through his veins had him digging with increased determination at the rubble.

Then, like the sun was smiling upon him, he found the desk. A brilliant smile broke out on his face, and Jeno sighed in relief, steadying his breathing as he went to open one of the drawers.

He frowned when it didn’t budge. It failed to open one the second try, as well as the third and the fourth. Feeling his heart starting to race once again, Jeno tried the other drawers of the desk, feeling relief when they opened without issue.

A minute later the panic was back, because the tome wasn’t there. It wasn’t in any of the drawers, though he _ had _ thankfully located a stash of his mother’s slave. Sticking the two small tubs into his pockets, Jeno turned his attention to the one drawer he had been unable to open, trying it yet again.

Just as before it held shut, even when Jeno leant back and put his whole body weight against it. The desk started to shift before the drawer did, and Jeno fought back the stressed tears sticking wetly to his lashes.

Then he heard voices in the distance, a loud yell from a voice he knew was one of their neighbors. It was soon joined by other voices, curious then panicked, and Jeno hissed in panic, whispering hoarsely at the damned drawer, “please, please, _ please _ open. Please open, I need you to open. I need to get out of here, mother told me to _ run_, but I need her tome, I-”

Jeno choked on his words as a lancing hum of magic shot through the air, sending his ears ringing as his fingertips tingled hotly, a faint green light illuminating the wood. The drawer clicked open under his stupefied gaze, sliding open as easily as the other drawers had when Jeno gave a slight tug to the handle still in his grasp.

In the center was the tome, just as thick and intimidating as it had been the first and final time he had laid eyes on it. Nothing else was in the drawer, no sign of whatever had been sealing it shut, and Jeno let out a slow breath as he realized it had been _ magic_. The humming was magic, that light had been _ magic, _ and Jeno could sense it. Jeno could _ utilize _ it.

Pushing away the panic those realizations brought him, Jeno snatched up the tome and quickly made his way back to the kitchen.

The voices of the villagers were closing in, their exclamations over the destruction of his house and for the watchmen to be called cutting clearly through the night. Jeno slipped out through the back door just as they started fighting against the lock on the front, calling out for anyone still inside.

☽ ☼ ☾

Getting down to the docks was an ordeal Jeno had never had to face before. Even when the villagers of Riphelm hated him for his mother’s blood, they had never touched him. They spoke about him, they glared, but they never out right harmed him. Knowing what he knew now, having _ seen _ what he had, Jeno wasn’t so sure that the trend would hold true. He had a sinking suspicion about his eyes, and he didn’t want to encounter anyone before daybreak struck and he was able to see his reflection.

Sneaking between alleys and shuffling around the corners of buildings before any villagers could see him, Jeno did his best not to be spotted as he made his way to Morim Lake. His bag was a constant reminder on his back, the thick tome only adding to the supplies weighing it down. He did his best to keep his footfalls quiet, the thick bottoms of his boots scratching at the cobblestone paths.

There was no moon above him to light his path, only the stars and the distant beam of light from the tomb. Seeing the swirling green of the clouds, Jeno knew now the dangers of magic, and he empathized with the trapped prince.

It was only when he was making his way down the wooden planks of the dock steps that he encountered other people. The dawn was still a few hours out, and not even the earliest risers of the fisherman would be out of bed. It was the time when more unsavory individuals that lived within the village visited the docks. They were the ones that traded concoctions that left the consumer with vivid hallucinations or deprived them of their inhibiting pains, half the price compared to the wares within Riphelm’s apothecary.

Jeno knew where they set up shop, just as any fisherman that worked in the village did. That knowledge was what had him skirting past the northern docks, skulking within the shadows as he passed anyone with darting eyes and shaking hands. His father usually tied his boat near the southern docks, in an effort to keep any of the dealer’s customers away from it.

Jeno had one close call with a woman he knew as a neighbor, her house only three doors down from her own. He knew her daughter, had been approached by the girl earlier that day in fact. They were of low standing within the village, the woman’s husband being caught in a storm years ago and consumed by the waves. They had little money, little worth, and it meant Jeno’s own low standing would not affect them. On the contrary, adding Jeno to their family would only help them. He would be able to put fresh food on their table, he would make a fine husband for the daughter, and he would be able to continue their bloodline. Jeno knew what they saw him as, knew why the daughter had approached him, and felt little when he had turned her offer for a meeting down immediately.

He had done it with plans to depart with his mother in two years time, but now those were as destroyed as the remains of his house.

Pushing aside the memory of his mother’s glazed eyes, pushing _ down _ the tears that wanted to consume him, Jeno watched as his neighbor stumbled down the docks. She had the twitching hands of a consumer, her nervous eyes darting into the shadows of the docks that searched for any of the village watchmen. She need not worry, Jeno knew, the watchmen were just as liable to be consumers as she was.

Slipping past her was just a matter of patience. Jeno had to wait until she was far enough down the dock before he moved from his place behind a few wooden crates. His footsteps weren’t as light as he would like them, mostly due to how it inhibited his speed. He needed to get to the boat as quickly as possible, because there was no telling how long it would take the villager’s to call the watchmen to his house and for them to discover what had happened.

Luckily it only took a few minutes more for him to stand before his father’s boat. He had been sailing aboard it for the past four years, training on how to wrangle both fish and the waves. He tossed his bag onto the stern’s deck, ignoring the thud it made upon landing as he turned to untie the lines from the cleats.

Luck was on his side tonight, at least. There was a steady wind blowing in from the Hyril Sea, powerful enough that Jeno wouldn’t have to attempt rowing the boat further away from the docks into the water on his own.

Ten minutes after he had arrived Jeno was pulling the sails into place, sweat making his shirt stick to his skin and his hair to cling to his face. It was the middle of the summer, and not even the night gave Riphelm relief from the balmy heat. Only the breeze helped cool him, and Jeno muttered thanks to it under his breath as he stood on the deck and adjusted the sails.

Ten feet from the dock was when a commotion drew his attention, voices raised sharply in the dark night. It was the watchmen calling the town’s attention to a dangerous magic user in the area and Jeno fought not to cower in place. Turning his focus to the lines, Jeno put his all into steering the boat further away, far enough from the shore for them to be unable to reel him back.

It didn’t feel like he breathed the entire time, his entire body clenched in worry that he would be caught, that he would be dragged back. His mother’s warning echoed in his head as he watched the wind buffeting the sails, the docks stretching out behind him. He had to flee from Riphelm, for his own good. It wouldn’t be safe, she had said.

Jeno would listen to her, because she had never steered him wrong.

It was only when he sailed past a northern bend in the lake that he relaxed, knowing he was out of direct sight of the docks. There was an outlet in the northern and southern reaches to the lake that let out into Hyril Sea, and while Jeno was far more familiar with taking the shorter route south, he knew his way around the northern reaches. His father had made sure he knew every area of the lake before he took him out to the open sea, teaching him on the gentler waves and smaller fish before introducing him to the challenge of the sea.

He had the option to head south, but it wasn’t a smart one. The sea stretched on for untold leagues, only the coasts of foreign kingdoms serving as potential ports. The east held much of the same, the empire on the other side of the Leuvai Strait wasn’t kind to inhabitants of the Halibell Kingdom. Their kindness faded with the fall of the prince, his mother had told him, but she hadn’t known much more and Jeno didn’t want to try his chances.

With the south and east unavailable to him, Jeno was left with two choices. The west would be inadvisable, for beyond Shellrest, a village smaller even than Riphelm, there was the deep forests, their age rivaling that of the royal tomb itself. Humans could traverse through the woods if they so wished, but it came at a risk Jeno wasn’t ready to face. He had a strong suspicion that he would lose himself in the thick woodlands if he were to ever venture into the depths as he was now.

That left north as his only option. Cirwallow was to the northwest, located in the middle of the marshlands that edged the coastal terrain Jeno was so used to, but had no direct boat access, and it was far too reminiscent to Riphelm to be a wise option. Jeno had learned plenty from the merchants that would travel between their villages, and their opinions fell distinctly in line with the people his mother told him to flee from.

There were towns further north though, Jeno knew that much. He hadn’t met many travelers from their locations, but he had learned and listened to the tales of more local traders. He knew that several towns and villages were lined along the western edge of the Leuvai Strait, and so long as Jeno hugged the coast he would eventually find such a location.

This knowledge was what had Jeno sailing out of the northern mouth of Morim Lake, hanging a left when he met the outlets that would meet the strait on either side of an island Jeno knew fish clustered around.

It took hours for him to round the island, the sky lightening above him as the tomb’s light faded for another month of slumber.When he finally broke out of the islands shadow the sun was rising in the east, its yellow light glinting on the waves with shining beams reaching out through the overhanging clouds. The wind was strong, catching at the sails easily and tugging him out into the open water. It was a good day for sailing, the clouds above his head puffy and light as they moved swiftly with the breeze. Seagulls cawed around him, soaring over from their roost on the island to check out the deck of Jeno’s boat, searching for a catch they could scavenge. They were in for disappointment, because Jeno had no intention of stopping until he was coming to port in an island far north of his current location.

Still, their presence reminded him of something he had promised himself to do when possible. Their feathered wings mirrored on the waves reminded him that he had to learn about something he feared to be true.

Setting the lines and ensuring that there was nothing for the boat to collide with during his inattention, Jeno took a deep breath before he was dropping to his knees on the edge of the deck. The water wasn’t that far below him, and while the wind made the waves choppy, there was still enough clarity to see his reflection.

The waves were still clear enough to show him eyes that mirrored his mother’s raging green before they had lost the spark of life.

Jeno jerked away from the water as soon as he realized the truth for what it was. His eyes, normally as dark and warm as his mother’s, had shifted from their brown hue and were replaced with chips of emerald. His mother’s stories whispered at the edges of his mind, the facts that came along with this discovery, the truth that he was the son of a mage. That he had _ magic. _

As it started to settle in, Jeno could feel his breathing pick up, tears clouding his vision as he pulled his knees to his chest and curled into himself. The hum he could normal feel as a low buzz, the hum that his mother had quashed questions of when he was a small child, was gaining in strength as he paid attention to it attention. He could feel the intensity vibrating throughout his body like the air before a raging storm, the taste of incoming lightning surrounding him. 

The cloud that were previously light and beautiful were darkening above him, the wind shrieking as the waves buffeting up against the hull. Jeno paid it no mind, all his attention focused inward as he clung tighter to himself.

Then, as the first tears started to fall down his cheeks, the sky opened above him, pounding rain biting at his skin and washing the tears into obscurity.

☽ ☼ ☾

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha. well. sorry about that jeno. trust me it gets better, i'm not gonna torture him for too much longer u.u  
**  
[MAP](https://i.imgur.com/Pry9mNa.jpg)  
**  
also uhh i've posted two pwps if any of you wanna check those out. for now, here's my [twt](https://twitter.com/toxicmew) and [cc](https://curiouscat.me/toxicmew) if you're interested in talking to me uwu see you next chapter~


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha,, i know its been a long time dfklsjdf but things are picking up so hopefully it'll drag my muse along with it u.u
> 
> **trigger warnings:** near drowning, discrimination
> 
> again, i'm so sorry jeno ㅠㅠ it'll get better soon, i swear

☽ ☼ ☾

Surviving on his own was something Jeno had never truly experienced. He had always had his mother’s guiding hands or his father’s forthright commands leading his way whenever he was faced with something unknown. He had learned how to care for himself (how to care for a household, how to _ provide _ for their family) just as any other young man in Riphelm, but he had never had to actually do it all by himself.

Now there was no family left, no one to lend him aid, and Jeno could only rely on his own two hands and the knowledge he had accumulated through his fourteen years of life.

He did well in the beginning, he could at least admit that to himself. He had his father’s boat, with all of the fishing supplies it contained within. He caught his meals whenever he was hungry, shedding scales and skin and slicing himself sections of meat just as his mother had taught him to so many years ago. There were flasks of water hidden beneath a small section of seating, a thankful relief against the harsh sun shining overhead. There was enough food within Jeno’s knapsack to sustain him whenever fish evaded him.

It worked.

It wasn’t _ great_, but it worked and it sustained Jeno as he sailed north through the Leuvai Strait. The water buffeting up against the hull was a refreshingly cool spray as he fought against the humid breeze and the currents within the strait that were slowly growing more and more agitated the closer he sailed to Spear Pointe. He knew why, as Riphelm had been sure to teach its young about the dangers of the strait they earned their livelihood from. Spear Pointe was forbidden for all but the most experienced of their fisherman, and even still few of them made the trek up to the rising peak in order to haul in the rare fish that inhabited the eddies that formed because of the rising outcrops of stone.

Even days before he would start encountering the dangerous whirlpools that inhabited those waters, Jeno could see the towering sight of Spear Pointe rising ahead of him. White stone and jagged outcroppings hid a portion of the overcast sky as well as Siloras Bay, one of their kingdom’s most prosperous fishing locations, which he knew rested on the other side of the intimidating cliff face.

It was an unavoidable obstacle that Jeno would have to face, unfortunately. He couldn’t go around it by sailing further east into the strait, because that was just asking for the boat to capsize. The middle of the strait was where the swiftest currents stayed, fully capable of dragging men into their depths until they had no will or breath to fight back.

That’s why boats as small as the one Jeno was sailing never ventured this far north. Only those with larger hulls and more heft to their weight could make it past the swift currents without fear. Unfortunately, Jeno didn’t have any other choice, and he would just have to hope that luck would be on his side.

☽ ☼ ☾

It wasn’t.

Jeno hadn’t been lucky in the past couple of weeks, and he didn’t know why he thought when he actually _ needed _luck that it would come to him. So it was with resignation that he accepted his fate, staring sullenly up into the heavens as the thick, overhanging clouds that had been obscuring the sky more and more as he got closer to Spear Pointe opened and released a deluge upon him.

The harsh wind whipped at the sails as he tried to reel them in, forcing the ropes to fight against his hands and tear against the thick hide of the gloves he had pulled on to protect the skin of his palms. He should have cast the anchor first, but he had an underlying worry the wind would fight against the opposing force until either the sails or the anchor itself gave way. So instead he turned to forcing the sails into compliance all while the boat continued to sail along, ferried forward by the whims of nature itself.

Jeno didn’t even notice how close he had come to Spear Pointe, nor did he notice the whirl of the water, the surface of the strait already a white wash of buffeting waves. He couldn’t hear the sound of rotating water, not when the thunder rumbled above him.

One moment he was on his feet, feeling the triumph of wrangling one of the sails into place, and then he was dunked into the freezing water, air escaping his lungs in a gasp of surprise and the strait filling his mouth instead.

Jeno didn’t know up or down, he couldn’t _ breathe_, and the shock of the water temperature had frozen his limbs so he couldn’t even fight. There was just the rush of water around him, in his mouth, in his eyes and ears and all around him, and then he was being slammed up against what felt like a wall but was probably the very boat he had been standing on only moments earlier.

The impact robbed whatever remaining air had been trapped in his lungs, water replacing it, and the realization that this was how he was going to die was what finally forced his limbs into compliance. Jeno had been raised in a fishing village. He knew how to swim before he knew how to walk. So Jeno steeled himself, grasped whatever remnants of coherent thought, and _ swam. _

He didn’t know how he managed to get to the surface, how he wasn’t still in the midst of the whirlpool, or how he hadn’t been caught up against his boat a second time. Jeno just knew that the air was sweet even as he hacked water from his lungs, even with rain still beating down above him and the water rushing around his weakened body.

Jeno was just thankful that he could breathe at all, and then he focused on finding the closest section of land he could see.

☽ ☼ ☾

There was an irony to be found in finding sanctuary on the very outcroppings of stone that formed the whirlpools that had almost drowned him. Jeno didn’t find the humor in it even as he recognized that fact, huddled as he was on soaked white stone and barely a foot away from the churning water that had almost drowned him.

He was soaked to the bone, shivering even as he hugged himself to find any sense of warmth that he could, and glaring out into the slowly lightning storm. His boat was gone, and he couldn’t even see any debris that might have marked its destruction. All of his supplies were gone, his sole possessions being what he had on his person. He didn’t even have the knapsack with supplies he had taken from his house, nor did he have-

His mother’s tome.

Jeno shot to his feet, panic serving as fuel for his exhausted body as he debated jumping into the very water he had been so desperate to escape from. He didn’t even know if he _ could _ find the knapsack among the churning water, or if it would just kill him in the process. It would take a miracle, or…

“Or magic,” Jeno whispered to himself, his voice a painful rasp, realization striking him abruptly as he stared back at his reflection in the water. Startled green eyes seemed to glow in agreement, both a message and a reminder all in one.

Shuffling back into the small alcove into which he had pulled himself, Jeno pressed his back up against the cool white stone and sunk down until he could cross his legs and relax in place. Then he took a few deep breaths, reveling in the air filling his lungs, before closing his eyes and _ focusing. _

He hadn’t managed to read more than a few pages of the tome. The weather had been spotty at best, only a bare handful of hours left without even a faint sprinkle of rain. Jeno hadn’t wanted the book to become soaked, so he read what he could when he had the time, and turned his attention to steering the boat or fishing for food when he couldn’t. So he had gotten a few very basic ideas of magic, barely anything that he could functionally use, but he had learned one very important that that he focused on now.

His mother had written down a story she said her father had told her, one he had heard from his own father, who had heard it from his mother and so on and so forth. It was a legend that had been passed down among generations, one that explained that magic, at its core, was _ everywhere. _ It was in the air, the sea, the sky. It was under his feet in the earth, it was in the trees towering above, or the caves far below the surface. It was in his blood, in his very _ soul, _ and Jeno - his _ family _ \- had been gifted with the ability to sense it, to _ utilize _ it. They just had to reach out for it.

They were mages. They weren’t like the fae, or even the elves that had once inhabited their kingdom before either spreading beyond their borders or disappearing completely (_the prince_, his mind whispered, his favorite bedtime tale rising to the forefront of his thoughts). They weren’t like the draconids or the merfolk, or any other species in existence. A mage was a mage, human but _ not_, graced by magic itself.

Jeno was a mage.

He was a mage, and even if he hadn’t known that fact even a month ago, he _ was. _ He had magic running through his veins, reflected in his very eyes, and if he wanted to know anything more about what being a mage entailed, he need his knapsack. He needed it, he needed its contents, he needed his _ mother’s tome. _

So Jeno looked within himself, looked at the very world around him, and _ reached. _

And it worked.

One moment there was nothing, only his focus and his deep breaths and the bone deep determination he was feeling and then-

Then there was a _ squelch _ and Jeno opened his eyes to the sight of his soggy knapsack sitting on the stone in front of him. He had retrieved his mother’s tome, somehow completely dry and undamaged even with the wet cloth surrounding it, and Jeno had _ done it. _

He couldn’t even comprehend it for a few moments, too stunned to do more than gape at his success. But then the elation overpowered him, a smile splitting his face as he dove towards the bag.

☽ ☼ ☾

Jeno didn’t waste time after that.

From the time he woke up that following morning, uncomfortable and thirsty with his clothes salt crusted and his stomach rumbling, Jeno had dedicated as much time as he could to reading pages of the tome. He couldn’t start immediately, not when he was still stuck in a small alcove of stone with the Leuvai Strait churning mere feet away.

So he peered into his knapsack, cautiously eating the few chunks of jerky that remained within from when he had raided the kitchen cabinets. Then he put the tome within it, strapped it closed as tightly as possible, and doveback into the water that had almost killed him the day before.

He could see the distant shore now that the sky was clear, after all. And even if it took him through the perilous waters that had been spoken of with fear and respect by the Riphelm fisherman, Jeno had no other choice. So he doveand he swam and he avoided the treacherous whirring of water that sounded in his ears and he pushed forward.

Then there was sand below his feet, a thin strip of beach, and then he was collapsing against one of the thin tree trunks he had been eyeing from his former alcove. From here he could see that jagged outcropping of stone that rose from that water, white stone gleaming in the morning sun. Jeno just watched it for a few long moments, gazing up at the puffy white clouds floating through the sky and the sun that climbed steadily higher and higher.

Then he was on his feet, ignoring his damp clothes and pushing his sticky hair off his forehead. He stepped into a forest that grew thicker and thicker the further he retreated from the shore.

☽ ☼ ☾

Surviving on his own was different in a forest. Jeno had practically been born in the water, and he was used on relying on it for his survival. He knew how to fish, how to sail, how to swim. Even if he knew the _ concepts _ of hunting for food outside of the water, there hadn’t been too many times when he had utilized it. Riphelm had been surrounded by palm forests and marshlands and low lying shrubs.

A couple weeks of travel, and Jeno was far away from that familiar environment.

Instead Jeno was traversing through thick woodland, the trunks of trees growing further around that his arms could circle. There were birds chirping all around him, taking flight from branches the closer he approached, the sounds of forest creatures he had only heard of meeting his ears.

His luck had seemed to finally change enough that he had managed to find a road, at least. Sure, it was a road that had forests bracketing it as far as he could see in either direction, but at least it was a _ road _. He had no wish to become lost in the forests of the kingdom, completely ignorant to his location until he managed to stumble upon a fae village and was subsequently bewitched.

So he followed the road he had found, heading north and hoping that a town would come in time.

Unfortunately, he met two travelers along that road, their path heading south and crossing his own (and maybe, he thought in hindsight, it was fortunate that he had met them, because two people were much better than an entire town). They were as unassuming as any other person Jeno had ever met, brown haired and brown eyed as many in Riphelm were. They had the same coloring Jeno had grown up with, the kind that he forgot he no longer shared.

He remembered, though. He remembered as soon as he smiled at their cheerful greetings, looking up to meet their eyes, and watching as the color drained from their features. Then the cheerfulness from moments before was gone, quickly being replaced with horror, terror, and then finally an overwhelming _ hatred. _

Jeno didn’t understand, not at first. He had realized _why_ his mother had told him to flee from Riphelm, but he hadn’t truly _understood._ Not until he looked at these people, normal in every way he could see, with the only difference between them and himself being their brown eyes and his jeweled green. As he looked at the way humanity could _hate,_ viciously and all consuming with only their prejudice as their support, Jeno understood what his mother had tried to save him from.

That understanding didn’t save him from the events that followed.

☽ ☼ ☾

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** [MAP](https://i.imgur.com/dX7b4vl.jpg) **
> 
> [ [twt](https://twitter.com/toxicmew) || [cc](https://curiouscat.me/toxicmew) ]


End file.
